#sgrsfic

The man blinks as though Sukeroku has thrown cold water on him. 'Why, it's you. I'm sure Kiku will have time.' He shuffles through the papers on his desk before standing up and showing him into a private waiting room. 'He's been rather down, you must understand. Though it hasn't affected his earnings in the least.'

Sukeroku flushes. 'You mean...'

'There's a certain eroticism to sad eyes, young master,' the clerk says, and Sukeroku clears his throat and turns away. It's his fault that Bon's been sad, and he knows it. This elderly clerk knows it. Probably the entire geisha district knows, at this point. He tries not to look up when some shikomi pass by outside, giggling about the festival tonight. Tonight! This is his chance.

-

'I am far too tired to go to any festivals,' Bon says. He's wiping his make-up off carefully, dabbing at his lips and cheek with a wet cloth. 'I've just returned from an entire day at the opening of a new tea-house and am not in the mood for the rabble.'

'The ol' razzle dazzle,' Sukeroku says, and grins when Bon rolls his eyes. 'Come on, it'll be fun.'

Bon soaks the cloth in a small wooden pail. 'No.'

'I want to be with you,' Sukeroku says, and he meets Bon's eyes steadily. 'I mean it.'

There's a silence. 'I won't give up my work for you.'

'Neither will I,' Sukeroku says. 'You have your work and I have mine. See? It works out just fine.' 

Last month Sukeroku had come in, drunk off his ass, and caught Bon holding an ear pick with a client in his lap. Sukeroku had seen red, and long story short it had ended with Sukeroku being thrown out of the establishment on his ass and Bon refusing to meet him for weeks after. 

‘Does he smell nice?’ Miyokichi asks. ‘You’re closer to him. Physically, I mean.’ She grins when Bon glares at her and ducks back into the kitchen, blowing him a kiss as she goes. She knows his type, which is infinitely more intimate than the fact she has absolutely no problem barging in on him in his underwear without knocking. Which has happened before. Twice. He turns back to resume Hipster Observation Duty, and nearly has the shock of his life.

Artfully Scruffy is right up against the counter now, smiling. ‘Can I get an affogato?’

Bon can only stare at his lanyard, which says: Sukeroku, followed by Theatre TA . Oh. Oh no. 

‘You’re that annoying guy from Theatre 101,’ Bon says.

Sukeroku beams. ‘Yes!’

‘You made me recite the monologue from Villette three times,’ Bon says. He remember standing onstage. The silent gaze of the onlookers had made him squirm, and he hated every second of the class after that.

The smile doesn’t fade in the slightest. ‘Yeah?’

‘In one class,’ Bon presses on. ‘Last year.’ Though Sukeroku had been much better-dressed then, he muses. Not nearly so much of a give-me-spare-change-and-I’ll-stop-harassing-you-at-the-bus-stop vibe. Miyokichi had been in the same class and got off scot-free with a short monologue from As You Like It as Phebe. 

But Sukeroku hands over five dollars, interrupting his train of thought, and Bon starts making the affogato. It was one of the first things he learned how to make, and the routine is familiar to him. A scoop of vanilla into a demitasse, melting softly into the sides. Espresso over it. Served on a saucer with an almond tuile on the side (baked by Miyokichi, thin and buttery and full of crunch). 

When he hands it over to Sukeroku their fingers brush, and Bon looks away. Sukeroku leaves after idling about a smaller table as Bon steadfastly refuses to look at him. The watch on his wrist tells him that the dinner crowd will be in an hour, and Bon knocks on the kitchen door until Miyokichi looks out innocently.

‘I’m pounding the steak,’ she says. Beads of sweat dot her brow. ‘How was he?’

‘He was our theatre TA,’ Bon says. 

Miyokichi wrinkles her nose. It’s a habit left over from when she was younger, and childishly charming in its own way. ‘The one in the tweed jacket with elbow patches who kept asking you to redo your parts?’

‘Sadly, yes,’ Bon confirms. ‘Though he looks so much more like a bum now.’

Miyokichi giggles. ‘No wonder he looked familiar! Perhaps it was like he was pulling your pigtails.’

‘My what?’ Bon asks, aghast. 

She shrugs. ‘You know. Boys. They tease the people they like. It doesn’t personally work on me, but I’ve always suspected that you preferred the other team. You know, bats over mitts, sausages over eggs--’ Bon claps a hand over her mouth, then looks around nervously to see if any customers overheard her. He leans forward and speaks more quietly than before, just in case. 

‘You were there when I had a crush on Shin in elementary school. You know I like men.’

Miyokichi smiles wistfully. ‘Yes, but a girl can dream. Whatever happened to Shin, anyway? He transferred out, didn’t he?’

‘To some art school,’ Bon says. ‘Some art school.’

Miyokichi’s gaze sharpens, and Bon shifts uncomfortably. He’s always disliked that look. He remembers one afternoon at an informal elementary spelling bee when she had gotten M-E-R-I-N-G-U-E right and he had stood there miserably, wilting in the heat, holding up M-E-R-A-N-G. This was exactly like that. When she knew something he didn’t.

Sukeroku grins, and rests his chin on the hilt of the great sword he still carries around. ‘But there would be no one to protect you.’

Bon doesn’t miss the Imperial Palace. He does miss the finery and the brocade gowns, and the soft laughter of elegant court ladies. He doesn’t miss the bowing or the scraping or the fearful looks the maids give him. Here, in the countryside, the maids are stout and red-cheeked, and their laughs echo through the small compound. 

The ground beneath Bon is no longer the firm stone of a courtyard. When he steps outside, it is in mud and grass, and the palace is on a gently sloping hill. The lake in the garden is a real one fed from higher up in the mountains, and most days Bon has no reason to close the heavy wooden doors that lead into the palace. 

Nobody wants to kill an abdicated royal.

He thanks Miyokichi privately. A concubine that had risen through the Emperor’s ranks rapidly and usurped the Empress, she had been gentle with Bon when the old Emperor died.

‘You could rule,’ she offered, but Bon had declined. He had no desire to, and thus Miyokichi had ascended to Empress. He had stayed on twelve more years until her son that turned eighteen. After that, he had requested to be sent to the small Summer Palace in the west, far away from the capital.

He had been a very poor fit for the job of Crown Prince, at any rate.  

‘There is no one to protect me from,’ Bon says haughtily, and turns his face away from Sukeroku’s grin. This oaf of a bodyguard had insisted on coming along, and in his eyes Bon can see the hope for what they could finally have together here.

Sukeroku follows him out into the garden, past the willow trees weeping softly into the lake. ‘From mosquitoes, my lord.’

‘You are a silly one,’ Bon says, and sits down on a stone bench. Sukeroku remains standing, looking down at him. ‘It’ll be quiet here for a very long time. It’ll be boring for someone as hot-headed as you.’

Bon is inordinately fond of Sukeroku. They’d been paired when they were sixteen, a royal and his bodyguard, and they’ve been together ever since. Now, Bon’s hair is greying, and Sukeroku is growing thick around the belly. 

‘It doesn’t matter how many quiet years pass,’ Sukeroku says easily, and sits down close enough to crowd Bon to one side of the bench. ‘As long as I can be by your side.’

When Bon had accepted his apprenticeship to the local shrine, he hadn't expected--well, this. But one could argue that Sukeroku was unexpected in a great many ways. He was a frivolous little fox-god, and his bushy red tails peeped out from under his ratty robe ever so often. Bon had heard tales of the former deity of the shrine that Sukeroku had been sent to replace, and wonders why she hadn't stayed.

'She was beautiful,' head priest Yakumo had sighed. 'Almond-shaped eyes, dainty feet, and white tails. And you never saw her lounging about either. Hardworking and beautiful.'

Bon had listened carefully, and then turned to stare at Sukeroku, who was listening in from behind the head priest.

Sukeroku winks at Bon. 'Eh? Well?'

'You're not even technically a deity,' Bon says. 'Just a messenger.'

Sukeroku rolls onto his back midair and grins wolfishly at Bon upside-down. 'But messengers can have sweet lips. All the better to pass a good tale or two on to the gods, see? To reward hardworking villages with very pretty shrine attendants.'

'Perhaps one kiss,' Bon says, just to see the surprise on Sukeroku's face.

Sweeping is dull, especially in a stone courtyard. The torii gates up to the shrine are worn, and the village is too small to offer much in the way of upkeep. There are wild grasses constantly encroaching on the little temple from all sides, and some days they are thankful that there is rice to eat.

But Sukeroku kisses gently as can be, and Bon's never kissed before but he knows to close his eyes and tilt his head upwards. It's infuriating how much taller and broader Sukeroku is-- he creeps closer to adulthood every year, and Bon has heard him boast to Head Priest that he's 810 years old now, thank you very much, won't be taking orders from anyone!

He reaches up and tugs Sukeroku closer.

 ‘The both of you are living in an apartment together,’ Miyokichi says, smiling. They’re the only two left in the theatre. The other two have wandered off in the direction of the gift shop, and Bon is still in a dreamy state after the play. ‘Sensei told me that.’ There is something in the way she looks at him that tells him that she isn’t entirely oblivious to the way Hatsuta behaves when they’re alone.

‘He’s just a lech,’ Bon says, and his excuse sounds more feeble aloud than it had in his head. ‘He likes things that are convenient for him.’

Miyokichi laughs. ‘Like master, like futatsume!’ She brings a finger up to her lips, but the mirth stays. ‘I suppose we are both fools.’

Kiku likes her more and more.

+

‘You spent way too much time with Miyokichi today,’ Shin complains. He lights his cigarette with live coals from the brazier, and lazes around on the floor reciting rakugo classics. ‘I’m starting to feel left out.’

Bon looks up. ‘Really,’ he says flatly. ‘Perhaps you ought to try getting a job. I’m sure that would help alleviate your feelings of loneliness.’

‘What’s a man to do when his lover treats him so coldly?’ Shin drawls, grinning at Bon like a dog that has unearthed a bone after an hour of rooting about fruitlessly in the soil. ‘Let’s have the night to ourselves, eh? I have no bookings for tonight or tomorrow morning. Let’s make the most of it.’

Bon holds the rakugo book aloft, keeping it between them. ‘I have to practice,’ he says primly. Shin sulks and Bon exhales, relieved at having fended off his advances for the night, and resumes reading the script aloud.

‘Well then, you can just go home --Ah!’ Bon jerks as arms wrap around him. It’s Shin. Who else? The hot breath against the nape of his neck, the smell of tobacco and booze, the feel of stubble through cloth. Bon sighs and gives in. Shin’s kisses haven’t changed one bit over the years. Rough, demanding, pressuring Bon into yielding to him. His arms shift Bon so that they shift to face each other, and Bon grips the collar of Shin’s yukata tightly as Shin lowers him to the floor.

‘You’re mine,’ Shin says. ‘Not Master’s, and not Miyokichi’s. Do you understand? I saw you first.’ His face, half-lit by the fire from the brazier, reminds Bon of autumn nights in the tea house where his mother danced. Shin is a wild creature, untamed by years spent in civilization.